The Account of: Guadalupe and Little Coyote (A True Story on Crossing the American Boarder)
The Account of: Guadalupe and Little Coyote
(A True Story on Cross the American Boarder)
(Written 6-24-2007)
Advance: No one noticed her in particular disembark the airplane in Tijuana, Mexico, in the unanimous night, no one saw her sister either, to speak of, they simply sunk into the multitude of people, but in a few hours, days and months, things would be different. She, I should say they, came from the south, that is, South America, Peru, from Huancayo, a small city in the Andes, to Lima Peru, and now as you know, they are in Tijuana. This is a true story, the names of the real persons involved are not going to be mentioned here but the names they chose to use on this drama adventure, I will share, Guadalupe, was the name she picked out, and her sister, Rosario.
(The Story:) Here they both lived for two months (in the house of the Little Coyote), their objective, and the premise of this short story is simple, both wanted the benefits the United States had to offer them: two women from Peru, seeking a new life in America, and their struggles to get from Huancayo, Peru to Portland, Oregon (let no one thing, it was easy).
The year is 1998. Normally the fees involved to fix an escort from South to America can range from $3000 dollars a piece (per individual), to $30,000-dollars depending on what part of South America you are coming from, and your connections, trying to get into America illegally. Mexicans of course do not wish to pay these horrendous fees, but do not mind collecting them to bring their neighbors across, and in the process many things can happen, rape, robbery, even murder, and this story you are about to read involves all three of them.
She, Guadalupe knew this city was the place required for her invincible intent, the place where she had to succeed, yet two months went by. Her obligation was to insure the folks on the way would get paid; this was done by phone, via, Portland, Oregon, to Mexico, and San Diego, California. The money was guaranteed, if indeed these two women were delivered to their family members.
Once in Tijuana, she was introduced to Little Coyote, her Mexican representative. She was given a new Passport, and Little Coyote was to be her husband, Guadalupe was twenty-eight years old at the time, had two children in Peru, a husband (or future husband, mother of her two children, for she is married now) who tried to make it to the United States, but was captured and turned back at the Mexican boarder. Thus, it was her turn to try.
And so in a car, and through the gate, Guadalupe and Little Coyote drove, Guadalupe a foot taller than her pretend husband, it felt odd for her, so she told me, but it was as it was, her new protector, respectfully, and once they got to where they were suppose to be going, and handed over to relatives, it would cost $3000 per person, $6000 total.
She felt a chill of fear, as they drove through the gates of Mexico to the country of opportunity; now in an unfamiliar city as she was and dependent on the good will, and consciousness of Little Coyote. She waited in San Diego for her sister, they were previously separated, as planned and now would be reunited; thus, once across the boarder, she found out it was not impossible to cross the supernatural boundary lines between the land of less and the land of plenty.
And accordingly, she felt this was halfway to her destination, unhindered thus far, and reunited with her sister, as I have just mentioned. It suited her quite well, and in the process (with twenty other migrates) Little Coyote offered them, or provided I should say, some frugal needs, food in particular. She noticed the Mexicans were eating out of their hands, and she asked for a fork (not the thing to do), and they looked at her as if she was asking for the moon, and consequently she passively accepted their style of eating, and ate out of her hands likewise.
The former group, and she and her sister, were brought to a house in San Diego, a new Coyote’s house, as Little Coyote had to leave and return to Mexico, for his next group. Here six of them had to fit into a compartment or platform underneath the car, where she had to push her nose close to a hole for air, and a fat Mexican next to her, was intoxicating with her smelly armpits. Nonetheless, she survived, as I would not be able to write this account, had she not.
As she arrived to the second location in San Diego, a house with two Coyotes waiting for the six individuals, she dismissed the vast illusory bodies that cramped and kept here like a sardine in the compartment of the car. She was happy to get out of there, although it was necessary, for there were immigration officials along the road they had to pass over to get to the second location in the city. Here things would change drastically.
In this new location, they were told they’d have to stay a while, perhaps four days, because no one came to pick them up. Matter of fact, their family members were in Portland, and to the understanding of the two Coyotes, they didn’t know were Portland was, but once finding out, they put the two girls into an isolated room, with bared windows, as a result, there would be no escape. Nonetheless, a catastrophe was building up, in that, throughout the day, the Evil Coyote, fought with the so called Good Coyote, over the two girls, he wanted to rape one, if not both. All day long this intolerable lucidity of insomnia fell upon the two girls, who found out there, was no escape from the room, and that their family members in Portland were reluctant to come to their rescue, in San Diego, lest they be captured for being illegal immigrant’s themselves, and a crazy Mexican outside their doors.
Guadalupe could hear them swear, that is curse at one another, and as night had fallen into early morning, it being 2: 00 AM things would change again.
Prior to this, the Evil Coyote was pounding on the door of the girls, trying to get in. And then the harsh pounding stopped, at which time the girl’s hearts started throbbing for the unknown was bleak at best, then a silenced came about. Next, another knock on the girls door sounded, a softer knock this time, it was the Good Coyote, “Come, come quick…!” he said to the two girls, carrying a sack outside to his car. He was exhausted, and as the two girls got into the car, they noticed a body lying by the sidewalk; it looked like the Evil Coyote.
“We are going to Las Vegas,” said the Good Coyote, there you can take a bus to Portland. And so they drove all that night.
Once in Las Vegas, the Good Coyote, he deliberately gave his black bag (sack) to Guadalupe to carry (as he went to clean up, after buying himself some cloths, and some shoes and cloths for the girls); then she, Guadalupe put her hand into the black bag, as he was changing she discovered it was a gun, and she quickly dropped it back down into the sack, aghast at what she had discovered; alas, she had left her fingerprints on the gun.
Guadalupe made a phone call to Portland, telling her folks, the Good Coyote had paid their fair on the Greyhound bus, to Portland, and they’d be there shortly. Prior to this, the Good Coyote had asked them if they had any money, Guadalupe did, she had $200-dollars, but said “No, we are broke…!” Well, that is the Peruvian way is it not. Anyhow, the Good Coyote (Mexican by Birth) perhaps was not as good as we’d like him to be, he took the $60,000 dollars that he and his partner had collected in San Diego, for the twenty or so clients they had taken across the boarder. So he was of course far from being broke himself.
(The innumerable variables Guadalupe had to endure were not over yet, a most difficult task still resided in the future over this drama, and unwinding of events.)
Once in Portland, neither of the girls could find a job for three months, and so that was not a good start, but her family provided, as often Peruvian families do. And in due time, they both did find a job.
It was shortly after she got her job, the mysteries of the murder that took place in San Diego, made it to the steps of the house, the house Guadalupe and her sister was living in. The police, Federal Agents knocked on their door, and gradually, the door was opened. It was to her surprise, the agents knew her full name, real name, and almost everything she knew about herself, they knew. What they really wanted though (the Agents) was cooperation, and so both Rosario and Guadalupe gave them as much as they could, and wanted, lest they be facing murder charges, thus, the Good Coyote was not as good as he tried to pretend.
After a certain amount of time, and movies on the two girl’s testimony on what took place in San Diego, the Good Coyote was picked up, and put into prison. And the Girls got a nice letter from the Federal Government, and a work permit.
In conclusion, this short sage of Guadalupe is but one story of many who come over the boarders of America to find a better life. I do not support the Mexicans phantom approach that they should be given rights to the American Dream, or as I refer to them as abnormal privileges, simply because they escaped from their country to ours, and in many cases, these adventures end up in rudeness, if not death along the way, but of course, not without a certain forewarning.
(A True Story on Cross the American Boarder)
(Written 6-24-2007)
Advance: No one noticed her in particular disembark the airplane in Tijuana, Mexico, in the unanimous night, no one saw her sister either, to speak of, they simply sunk into the multitude of people, but in a few hours, days and months, things would be different. She, I should say they, came from the south, that is, South America, Peru, from Huancayo, a small city in the Andes, to Lima Peru, and now as you know, they are in Tijuana. This is a true story, the names of the real persons involved are not going to be mentioned here but the names they chose to use on this drama adventure, I will share, Guadalupe, was the name she picked out, and her sister, Rosario.
(The Story:) Here they both lived for two months (in the house of the Little Coyote), their objective, and the premise of this short story is simple, both wanted the benefits the United States had to offer them: two women from Peru, seeking a new life in America, and their struggles to get from Huancayo, Peru to Portland, Oregon (let no one thing, it was easy).
The year is 1998. Normally the fees involved to fix an escort from South to America can range from $3000 dollars a piece (per individual), to $30,000-dollars depending on what part of South America you are coming from, and your connections, trying to get into America illegally. Mexicans of course do not wish to pay these horrendous fees, but do not mind collecting them to bring their neighbors across, and in the process many things can happen, rape, robbery, even murder, and this story you are about to read involves all three of them.
She, Guadalupe knew this city was the place required for her invincible intent, the place where she had to succeed, yet two months went by. Her obligation was to insure the folks on the way would get paid; this was done by phone, via, Portland, Oregon, to Mexico, and San Diego, California. The money was guaranteed, if indeed these two women were delivered to their family members.
Once in Tijuana, she was introduced to Little Coyote, her Mexican representative. She was given a new Passport, and Little Coyote was to be her husband, Guadalupe was twenty-eight years old at the time, had two children in Peru, a husband (or future husband, mother of her two children, for she is married now) who tried to make it to the United States, but was captured and turned back at the Mexican boarder. Thus, it was her turn to try.
And so in a car, and through the gate, Guadalupe and Little Coyote drove, Guadalupe a foot taller than her pretend husband, it felt odd for her, so she told me, but it was as it was, her new protector, respectfully, and once they got to where they were suppose to be going, and handed over to relatives, it would cost $3000 per person, $6000 total.
She felt a chill of fear, as they drove through the gates of Mexico to the country of opportunity; now in an unfamiliar city as she was and dependent on the good will, and consciousness of Little Coyote. She waited in San Diego for her sister, they were previously separated, as planned and now would be reunited; thus, once across the boarder, she found out it was not impossible to cross the supernatural boundary lines between the land of less and the land of plenty.
And accordingly, she felt this was halfway to her destination, unhindered thus far, and reunited with her sister, as I have just mentioned. It suited her quite well, and in the process (with twenty other migrates) Little Coyote offered them, or provided I should say, some frugal needs, food in particular. She noticed the Mexicans were eating out of their hands, and she asked for a fork (not the thing to do), and they looked at her as if she was asking for the moon, and consequently she passively accepted their style of eating, and ate out of her hands likewise.
The former group, and she and her sister, were brought to a house in San Diego, a new Coyote’s house, as Little Coyote had to leave and return to Mexico, for his next group. Here six of them had to fit into a compartment or platform underneath the car, where she had to push her nose close to a hole for air, and a fat Mexican next to her, was intoxicating with her smelly armpits. Nonetheless, she survived, as I would not be able to write this account, had she not.
As she arrived to the second location in San Diego, a house with two Coyotes waiting for the six individuals, she dismissed the vast illusory bodies that cramped and kept here like a sardine in the compartment of the car. She was happy to get out of there, although it was necessary, for there were immigration officials along the road they had to pass over to get to the second location in the city. Here things would change drastically.
In this new location, they were told they’d have to stay a while, perhaps four days, because no one came to pick them up. Matter of fact, their family members were in Portland, and to the understanding of the two Coyotes, they didn’t know were Portland was, but once finding out, they put the two girls into an isolated room, with bared windows, as a result, there would be no escape. Nonetheless, a catastrophe was building up, in that, throughout the day, the Evil Coyote, fought with the so called Good Coyote, over the two girls, he wanted to rape one, if not both. All day long this intolerable lucidity of insomnia fell upon the two girls, who found out there, was no escape from the room, and that their family members in Portland were reluctant to come to their rescue, in San Diego, lest they be captured for being illegal immigrant’s themselves, and a crazy Mexican outside their doors.
Guadalupe could hear them swear, that is curse at one another, and as night had fallen into early morning, it being 2: 00 AM things would change again.
Prior to this, the Evil Coyote was pounding on the door of the girls, trying to get in. And then the harsh pounding stopped, at which time the girl’s hearts started throbbing for the unknown was bleak at best, then a silenced came about. Next, another knock on the girls door sounded, a softer knock this time, it was the Good Coyote, “Come, come quick…!” he said to the two girls, carrying a sack outside to his car. He was exhausted, and as the two girls got into the car, they noticed a body lying by the sidewalk; it looked like the Evil Coyote.
“We are going to Las Vegas,” said the Good Coyote, there you can take a bus to Portland. And so they drove all that night.
Once in Las Vegas, the Good Coyote, he deliberately gave his black bag (sack) to Guadalupe to carry (as he went to clean up, after buying himself some cloths, and some shoes and cloths for the girls); then she, Guadalupe put her hand into the black bag, as he was changing she discovered it was a gun, and she quickly dropped it back down into the sack, aghast at what she had discovered; alas, she had left her fingerprints on the gun.
Guadalupe made a phone call to Portland, telling her folks, the Good Coyote had paid their fair on the Greyhound bus, to Portland, and they’d be there shortly. Prior to this, the Good Coyote had asked them if they had any money, Guadalupe did, she had $200-dollars, but said “No, we are broke…!” Well, that is the Peruvian way is it not. Anyhow, the Good Coyote (Mexican by Birth) perhaps was not as good as we’d like him to be, he took the $60,000 dollars that he and his partner had collected in San Diego, for the twenty or so clients they had taken across the boarder. So he was of course far from being broke himself.
(The innumerable variables Guadalupe had to endure were not over yet, a most difficult task still resided in the future over this drama, and unwinding of events.)
Once in Portland, neither of the girls could find a job for three months, and so that was not a good start, but her family provided, as often Peruvian families do. And in due time, they both did find a job.
It was shortly after she got her job, the mysteries of the murder that took place in San Diego, made it to the steps of the house, the house Guadalupe and her sister was living in. The police, Federal Agents knocked on their door, and gradually, the door was opened. It was to her surprise, the agents knew her full name, real name, and almost everything she knew about herself, they knew. What they really wanted though (the Agents) was cooperation, and so both Rosario and Guadalupe gave them as much as they could, and wanted, lest they be facing murder charges, thus, the Good Coyote was not as good as he tried to pretend.
After a certain amount of time, and movies on the two girl’s testimony on what took place in San Diego, the Good Coyote was picked up, and put into prison. And the Girls got a nice letter from the Federal Government, and a work permit.
In conclusion, this short sage of Guadalupe is but one story of many who come over the boarders of America to find a better life. I do not support the Mexicans phantom approach that they should be given rights to the American Dream, or as I refer to them as abnormal privileges, simply because they escaped from their country to ours, and in many cases, these adventures end up in rudeness, if not death along the way, but of course, not without a certain forewarning.
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 4:15 PM
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